Montagues Journey
by BeNice2Aragog
Summary: COMPLETE. Where did Montague go when the Weasley twins shoved him into the vanishing cabinet? Follow his journey as he tumbles through a world of socks, gets caught in a strange Quidditch match, and dreams of rescue.
1. Single Sock Sanctuary

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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**Chapter 1 – Single Sock Sanctuary**

Cursing and shouting, Montague fell to his knees and attempted to untangle himself from his robes. The Weasley twins had unceremoniously whipped them over his head and shoved him headfirst into a closet. The sooner he got out of this mess, the sooner he could take away every point Gryffindor would earn over the next two school years and the sooner he could curse Fred and George to oblivion. He caught a whiff of fresh air and followed his nose to daylight. Flinging the mass of black suffocating material backward in defiant triumph, he discovered…

Socks.

Socks everywhere.

Long socks, short socks, black socks, and shocking pink socks.

Patterned socks with golden snitches and purple socks losing their stitches.

Not a matching pair existed in the thousands of socks that swirled about him in this strange land? room? dimension? extra-terrestrial plane? of… socks. Of course, it was purely a guess that no two socks matched. Montague could not be bothered to research this hypothesis since he was preoccupied with thoughts of beating the snot out of Fred and George. An eddy of green and silver argyles caught his attention, interrupting his internal rage. He liked green and silver socks; it's just that he preferred they were on his feet and not ballroom dancing under his nose. He growled and viciously smacked them away with one hand.

The socks instantly scattered, giving him a sock-free hemisphere about two meters in diameter. He watched them cower and tremble in terror along the perimeter. A midnight blue wool sock with moons, stars and the letters A, P, W, B and D started to unravel itself from the toe. The sock that he had struck let out a tiny 'squeak' and limped away toward its friend – an older, brown sock with an image of the Minster of Magic embroidered on its heel. His immediate anger now diffused, Montague stood up and wondered, _Where the hell am I?_

He spun around thinking that no matter where he was, he might be able to retrace his steps and return to Hogwarts. No such luck. There was no hint of a door or portal from which he may have entered. He stepped forward anyway, thinking the portal was invisible, but nothing happened. He stood alone in his small sphere-of-sock-fear, took a deep breath of the oddly pine-scented, static-free air and surveyed his surroundings further.

While the socks were the predominant objects floating around the seemingly infinite space, he spotted other articles. Handkerchiefs, a robe and some boxer shorts floated aimlessly about him. Looking up, the serene field of footwear repeated itself against a light grey canopy that glowed like an overcast day. He caught the glitter of other things – keys, rings, glasses, Knuts, Sneak-o-scopes, and oddly enough, a golden snitch. He watched the snitch weave in and out of the array of articles, then vanish as only snitches are known to do.

A soft 'peep' drew Montague's attention back to the "wounded" sock that drifted below him. It seemed to have recovered from its injury and was now lazily drifting back up into some undetectable current. He captured it with ease, and then released it immediately when he felt razor sharp teeth sink into his index finger.

"YEOW! Mother of Salazar!" he cursed.

A small white mouse was clamped to Montague's finger. It was exactly like the creatures McGonagall used in her Transfiguration class, except this specimen had no tail. The mouse positively squeaked with joy at having avenged itself for the attack on his temporary home. (A pair of white gloves floating nearby applauded the rodent's effort.) Leaving little time to savor the taste of fresh blood, the mouse released Montague's finger, dropped to the ground and ran for cover.

Montague drew his wand with the intent of blasting the little bugger into powder only to discover the mouse had scampered away. Apparently, the lack of a tail gave the rodent some kind of aerodynamic advantage in this footwear forest. It had managed to reach the safety of the swirling socks.

"&#," Montague roared, and every sock in the vicinity fled from his fury. He clenched his jaw, gripped his wand with renewed determination, and charged into the maelstrom of clothing in mad pursuit.

He so wanted to torture the evasive little rodent. He had been looking for an opportunity to try his hand at an Unforgivable Curse. Between his hatred of the Weasley twins, the stupid (but impressive) dancing argyles and the bite from a tail-less mouse, he was confident the Ministry officials would understand his situation and graciously overlook his use of the Killing Curse. And should the Ministry find out and still be intent on prosecuting him, Malfoy's dad could always pay them off.

Swatting socks left and right, he pressed on in the direction that he last saw the mouse running. The density of objects seemed to be thinning and he spotted a blur of white fluff moving purposely a short distance ahead. He quickly raised his wand to fire off a Killing Curse, but a stringy, black, tentacled mass hooked itself onto his arm and thwarted his attempt. He jumped around in panic and tried to shake it loose. Finally, it released him from its hold and he stepped back panting.

As it slowly drifted away, Montague felt slightly embarrassed at his reaction. It was just an odd little piece of clothing. He caught it purposely with the tip of his wand and examined its intriguing shape. His face flushed as the image of one of the cute Beauxbatons girls clad in such a frilly, silky undergarment sprang unexpectedly into his mind.

A squeak interrupted his fantasy and Montague had the distinct feeling that the mouse was taunting him.

_It doesn't matter. The little squirt will be dead in moment. _

He fired off a Wind Charm in the direction of the sound and cleared the way ahead of him. Striding into the open space, he spotted the mouse scampering under a very stylish, chintzy over-stuffed armchair.

"_Reducto!_" he shouted, and the chair burst into a mess of fabric and feathers.

Another expertly executed Wind Charm cleared the battle zone and Montague noticed the mouse taking cover under a wooden box filled with what appeared to be snails. A devilish grin spread across his face. His eyes slowly narrowed in concentration, his body tensed and tingled as he prepared to deliver the final blow. With his mind entirely consumed with the pleasant, electric feeling that all Slytherins seem to have when about to kill small, defenseless, lovable furry creatures (and a handful of invertebrates), it was quite remarkable that he noticed that the snails in front of him were disappearing and reappearing. He froze in his penultimate death curse pose and pondered the blinking snails.

_Blinking snails, white mouse with no tail, eccentric armchairs, black, lacy undergarments that evoke pleasant feelings almost as exciting as cursing small furry animals, and millions of socks. Hmmm… _

He relaxed, lowered his wand and for the second time in the quarter hour, he wondered, _Where the bloody hell am I?_ A snitch materialized directly in front of him. In his mildly curious state of mind, he absently reached out, caught it, and instantly regretted it.


	2. Let the Games Begin

**Chapter 2 – Let the Games Begin**

It was like traveling by Portkey except following the sharp yank at the navel, there was no other feeling of traveling through space. The effects of the journey gave Montague an intense headache, as if his head was being compressed into an egg. The pressure eased a bit and his senses gradually returned. A high-pitched hum filled his ears as he lazily rolled and looked about.

He was suspended in a bright blue space. Not too far off in the distance, there was a dingy green wall with an unusual geometric pattern carved into it. The pattern looked like an ancient hieroglyph of an eye. There was a large oval with a smaller circle directly in its center. A line divided the pattern in half lengthwise, and there were additional markings at both ends of the oval. The pattern was strangely familiar, but he couldn't put his mouse-bitten finger on it. If he had only studied a bit more in Ancient Runes, he might have been able to interpret its meaning. The annoying hum in his ears and the throbbing in his head were not making it very easy to concentrate on the puzzle. Much to his pleasure, the humming ceased at that very moment.

He barely had time to enjoy this small turn of good fortune since the ancient-eye-pattern started moving towards him. Other details of the design started to form as it crept closer. Sparks of bright yellow, blue and bronze swam laterally back and forth across the length of the oval and through the "pupil" in the middle. Montague was positive that he had seen the design before. He was also positive that he was on a direct collision course with the accelerating object unless he acted soon. He could feel a chilling gust and hear the roar of wind preceding its approach; it would swallow him within seconds. He thought he might be able to stun it or blast it apart. He raised his wand, and found out his good luck streak had come to an abrupt end: He was wandless.

_I just had it in my hand._

Seven seconds to impact.

In fact, he seemed to be missing his entire arm.

_This is not good._

Five seconds to impact.

The wall was moving incredibly fast. Hurricane strength winds rushed about him; he could hardly believe that he remained stationary. He tried to turn away and run, except he didn't have any legs.

_This is really not good._

Three seconds.

He closed his eyes and threw his non-existent arms over his head to brace for the impact. Oddly enough, this action provided his brain with some strange sensory feedback. There was something attached near his would-be shoulder: It was a very nice, sleek silver wing.

One second.

_Fly wings!_

The humming noise burst back to life and the wall snapped to a halt a mere meter away. At this distance, the green wall looked like it was made of grass.

_Grass?_

If he had hands, he would have slapped himself on the forehead. Instead, he wobbled a bit as he shook off a moment of dizziness and commanded his wings to propel him skyward. He rocketed away from the ground, glanced down and laughed. Yes, he'd seen this eye-pattern countless times – from the back of a broom. Cautiously spinning away to his right, Montague faced the three unmistakable goal hoops of a Quidditch pitch. The blue/bronze and yellow/black uniforms of the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff players zipped thru his field of vision as they flew across the field, passing the Quaffle and smashing Bludgers. One Ravenclaw player spotted him where he hovered and made a mad dash toward him.

"AND CHANG'S GOT A JUMP ON THE SNITCH," the play-by-play announcer shouted.

_Not for long._

He didn't understand how he got into this particular state, but Montague definitely understood this game. In his current role, it was very simple – don't get caught. Then his Slytherin mindset kicked in and he revised his strategy: Don't get caught, and inflict maximum damage to the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff teams.

Snitches were prone to flee instead of fight, so Montague thought charging directly toward the Seeker would be a hilarious surprise – and he was right. The shocked, befuddled, mouth agape look on Chang's face was one of the funniest expressions he had seen in his lifetime. However, seeing her tonsils and sparkling white dental work was not as funny. He was headed straight for her open mouth before she sloth-rolled and disappeared behind him. A split second more and he would have added the inside of a Ravenclaw's stomach to the list of odd things he'd seen today.

"Whoa! That is one possessed snitch! Nice try Chang, but Harry Potter has the patent on the Bullet Swallow Catch," the announcer reported.

It was lucky for both of them she had yielded to his charge. He had tried to dodge left, but realized almost too late that he hadn't mastered all the mechanics of snitch flying yet. Hovering was easy. Straight and fast took little skill. However, turning and dodging were a little trickier than expected. He zoomed to the far edge of the pitch and took cover against the gold and red backdrop of a Gryffindor banner. From this vantage point, he could watch the field as he practiced zipping back and forth, up and down and spinning in tight circles.

He was pleasantly amazed at the way his wings responded – infinitely more responsive than his Nimbus 2001 racing broom and certainly more versatile in terms of changing direction. His golden body was near frictionless. When he moved, he could sense a change in temperature under his metallic skin. It took little time to ascertain that the faster he moved, the warmer he felt. The rising and falling pitch of his humming wings created even more warm, tingling delights in his snitch nerve center as he darted, hovered, and darted again. "Perfect Comfort" was the phrase that came to mind – as if, when he moved this way, he was fulfilling his true purpose in the universe. The speed – the warmth – was pure ecstasy. His actions – pure beauty.

_This is incredible._

He also discovered his field of vision was enormous. Like looking at a refracted scene through a crystal ball, he could see in nearly every direction simultaneously. Visual information flowed into him from everywhere, practically overloading his brain. Only a small cone directly behind him was beyond his sight. (Montague now understood why the snitch darted side-to-side when being pursued. It was the only way to get the purser into view.) As he flitted from one spot to the next, the world would briefly fall out of focus, colors would warp into twisting streaks, then instantly snap into clarity as he hovered in his new location.

He quickly reached the point where he could just think about where he wanted to be and his gleaming silver wings instantly made it so. Buzzing the Seeker was a daring move for a rookie snitch, but now his fun could really begin.

He broke cover and started tailing a Hufflepuff Beater riding a Comet Two-Seventy. His superior vision made it easy to track the entire field, so he stayed in the wake of the Beater until he found himself in an advantageous position, then "revealed" himself to the Hufflepuff Seeker.

"Hey! Snot-nose," he shouted.

There was no need to shout. The Hufflepuff Seeker was performing his job well and spotted him immediately. In fact, both Seekers had seen the snitch. Montague turned and raced past the Beater in a blink of an eye and placed himself opposite the diving Seekers. The Beater was shocked by the appearance of the snitch right in front of his nose. He was doubly shocked when he looked behind him and saw two Seekers charging towards him at top speed. He attempted to get out of the way, but Montague flew into his face like a pesky gnat and caused the Beater to remain in place. The stunned Beater started swinging his bat wildly at the snitch, but only succeeded at smashing one of the Seeker's shoulders and the knuckles of the other as they bolted by.

Montague dropped below the Beater's feet and watched the Hufflepuff Seeker bite down the pain of a broken wrist. The Ravenclaw Seeker was in equal pain, but managed to regain control of her broom and circle back towards him.

The hapless Beater was still trying to comprehend what was going on when the Seekers charged at him again. This time, Montague kept the Seekers circling like the planets around the flummoxed Beater. After four or five loops each, the Seekers were so dizzy that when Montague pulled away from the fray, the Seekers couldn't fly straight in pursuit. The three players ended up in a tangled mess of bodies and brooms.

The Hufflepuff Captain called a time out.

The short pause gave Montague time to concoct more plans for wrecking the game. In his medieval mind, each Seeker was a lance and every other player was a knight to be jousted. When play resumed, chaos ensued. Montague led the Seekers into some truly spectacular mid-air collisions with the other players. From the perspective of the Quidditch fans, it appeared the Seekers were trying to skewer every other player on the tip of their broomsticks.

The enthusiastic crowd soon abandoned their favorite team and began cheering for him, Montague the Sadistic Snitch. They began chanting "Snitch! Snitch! Snitch!" each time he came out of hiding. Ovations and thunderous applause would follow every dramatic escape. They were even more raucous when his escape was coupled with a Seeker's out-of-control dive into the dirt or other "Oh, man that has got to hurt" display. Sometimes it seemed everyone in the stadium would hold their breath and go completely silent milliseconds before two players rammed each other – just so they could all hear the characteristic _bik!_ of two heads colliding like coconuts.

After a clever maneuver that sent the Ravenclaw Keeper crashing through the middle goal post entangled with his own Seeker, Madam Hooch called a time out. She was staring at him with an inquisitive eye. He ignored her and danced a celebration dance for the rooting fans.

First, he did his best impersonation of a Dr. Filibuster firework launch by spiraling up to grandstand level. Then, he zigzagged in every direction like he was inscribing a fifty point star in the sky. He didn't think it was possible, but he managed to make himself dizzy. To the gallery, the snitch looked like it was a paddleball popping up and down on its elastic string. With flair of royal pageantry, he flew a lazy parade lap around the perimeter of the field.

_Wow! This is fun – even more fun than Banishing Pansy Parkinson's brazier out from under her dress robes while she danced the Funky Hippogriff with Malfoy._

With a final double loop-de-loop, he found himself facing the silver and green grandstand of the Slytherin house. Not many of his Slytherin housemates had come out for the game, but all the members of his Quidditch team were there in the front row. Bletchley, Malfoy, Warrington, Crabbe, Goyle and Pucey, were all laughing and taunting the battered and bruised Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw players.

He was happy to see them following Captain's orders even in his absence. He didn't expect Crabbe and Goyle and the one brain cell they shared to learn anything from watching the competition. On the other hand, Malfoy's devious mind had concocted the "Weasley is our King" plan after watching the Gryffindor's practice. He was quite proud of Malfoy when the song successfully ruined the Gryffindor team.

_I'm gonna recommend Professor Snape make Malfoy the Slytherin Quidditch Captain next year. Assuming – _

He gazed past the grandstands to the silhouette of Hogwarts glowing in the late afternoon sun. He hovered and soaked up the image of his home through every facet his vision offered him. He watched the scene of his friends having a walloping good time mocking the Quidditch players on the pitch. Without even moving a centimeter, his golden skin burned with a searing desire for… Professor Snape.

_I need to _find_ Professor Snape._

Looking back to the Slytherin grandstand, Montague began searching for his Head of House. Snape wasn't in the cheering crowd as far as he could tell, but he noticed that he had captured Malfoy's full attention. Malfoy was pointing directly at him with a disturbed look on his face. He zipped over to him.

_Malfoy! It's me, Montague!_

Malfoy shouted back at him, but Montague could not hear what he was saying due to the piercing screeches of an eagle that emanated from an unusual hat worn by a dedicated Ravenclaw fan. Malfoy just kept shooing him away like an annoying bat.

_Malfoy, you pathetic excuse for a Seeker, help me! I've been – _

His view went black and his skin went cold as something swatted him from behind.

Play had resumed after the time out, and he had been close to stationary for the last ten seconds – plenty of time for even the most dismal and exhausted Seeker to catch him. The crowd erupted in simultaneous shouts of victory and groans of defeat. Once again, Montague paraded around the field, but the view from inside the gloved hand of the Hufflepuff Seeker wasn't as thrilling.

_No! No! No! You idiot! Let me go!_

He fought his captor's grip like a Mer-man out of water. It was pointless. His beautiful silver wings were trapped against him and would not budge. He glimpsed daylight occasionally and heard the muffled sounds of a team congratulating each other. He almost escaped when the Seeker handed him over to Madam Hooch, but she snagged him by a wing and immobilized him with a sharp tap of her wand.

"I'm gonna have to check the spell work on this little one later. It was acting awfully—shall I say— 'Slytherin-like' today," she remarked to the Seeker. He simply nodded in response and flew away to join his teammates in celebration after a long, painful match.

Madam Hooch placed him in a little compartment in the Quidditch trunk. The Bludgers had been strapped in before him. They were evidently having a stimulating conversation with each other judging by the gurgling iambic pentameter being volleyed between them. It reminded Montague of Crabbe and Goyle conversing with their mouths stuffed. (The Bludgers' discussion undoubtedly contained more intellectually stimulating content.) The last thing he saw was Madam Hooch's gaunt, thin eye-browed face in full multi-dimensional view, slamming down the lid on the Quidditch trunk. All was dark; the Bludgers went silent.

Montague was at a complete loss. The best he could hope for was an early morning practice by one of the other house teams. Slytherin wouldn't be meeting since he, their captain, was missing. (At least he presumed that he was indeed missing from his regular plane of existence.)

_That leaves the pathetic Gryffindor team to spring me loose – an easy escape for sure – but, once free, where should I go? _

His chances of being rescued seemed to be diminishing the more he thought about it.

Inhabiting a Golden Snitch, locked inside a trunk, Montague gave into the darkness and imagined himself asleep.


	3. Prometheus and the Angel

**Chapter 3 – Prometheus and the Angel **

Inhabiting a Golden Snitch, locked inside a Quidditch trunk, Montague gave into the darkness and imagined himself asleep. He "imagined himself asleep" because it was impossible to sense whether or not he was sleeping. If his snitch eyes were "open" or "on," it was pitch black and silent; if his snitch eyes were "closed" or "turned off," it was pitch black and silent; and, if he was asleep, how would he sense anything at all? If the Bludgers snored, he might have an audible point of reference, but they made no sound. Even his snitch skin offered no sense of movement or change in temperature. It was as if he was a particle of dust floating in the vacuum of space.

The lack of sensory input was unsettling. Time had no meaning. He may have slept; he may not have. He was only aware that he was thinking and that reassured him of his continued existence. He began to ask himself an endless stream of questions:

_Where am I? Is anyone looking for me? What am I? What condition am I in? If I'm really inside a snitch, then where is my body? What did those Weasley bastards do to me and how in the Merlin's name am I going to get back to Hogwarts so I can pulverize their arses?_

While it calmed him to be "conscious," the fact that he had no answers just drained him of hope. For all he understood, he could be spending the final hours of his life trapped in a Quidditch trunk. Thus, when a sparkling light burst into view, he felt very afraid.

Multi-colored rays spiraling like a kaleidoscope ripped across the sky, and the heavens appeared to open like an oyster shell above him. Montague squinted and turned away from the inexplicable brightness. (He was quick to appreciate that he had somehow attained eyes with which to squint.) Though not fully adapted to the glare, his new eyes were able to decipher his surroundings. What he observed eased his initial fear and relieved his claustrophobia.

Montague found himself in human form chained to a wall at the top of a tower. The tower was like the astronomy tower at Hogwarts; it was open to the sky and stone parapets of various heights were built around the circular perimeter. He was wearing a rumpled Hogwarts uniform and lacked shoes and socks. Montague felt a chilly breeze swirl through the tower, and he wished he had a toasty pair of socks. He attempted to cover his feet with his robes, but the manacles at his wrists stubbornly reminded him that he was bolted to the tower wall. Still, he considered his condition far better than being locked in a trunk.

_Chained like Prometheus awaiting the punishment of the Gods… Are the vultures on their way to do the liver-picking tango?_

On cue with his surreal thought, an eagle screeched overhead. From the exact location that the light first split the sky, a white, winged horse – not an eagle – with a gold mane and tail was bearing down upon his tower prison. Its eyes were piercing silver; its hooves and wing tips were electric blue. It called out again in its unique sound: a strange mix of an eagle's cry and a horse's whinny. Unsure of what he was seeing, Montague rattled his head and blinked several times to clear his vision.

Montague was positive he had never come across a magical beast such as this one. He had memorized every one in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them _and the special companion edition _Fantastic Beasts and How to Subdue or Kill Them_ by Walden Macnair. It was definitely related to the mythical Pegasus; however, its color, size, brilliance and the fact that it wore a harness of gold medallions around its neck indicated that this beast (or being) was something special. It gracefully landed a few meters away with only a whisper of noise. Up close, Montague could see its coloring was not pure white, but a shimmering mix of blue and white: a reflection of the sky from which it came.

The beast ruffled its wings, tucked them snuggly against its back, then shook its golden mane as if casually throwing off the weariness of a day's journey. As it moved across the stone floor, a different musical note softly resonated from each of its hooves, making an improvised four-note melody like wind chimes wafting in a lazy breeze. Montague could feel the stones rippling like water underneath him – they seemed touched by the creature's presence. The creature cast Montague a wary eye and paced back and forth in front of him. Each time it switched directions, it keenly tossed its silky tail in the air.

Montague squirmed under the beast's scrutiny. The creature approached him and sniffed at his feet, and Montague retracted his legs slowly. Though he welcomed the beast's warm breath on his cold feet, it had occurred to him that the horse-eagle might be considering his toes as a potential mid-day snack. He pulled his legs up to protect himself as best he could in his imprisoned state.

The beast looked up, stepped backwards, then tossed its long nose up in the air several times. Montague watched in amazement as it reared up on its hind legs and started to transform. In a few seconds, a young woman stood in the place where the winged horse had been.

_I must be dreaming._

She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and he promptly went into Cupid's arrest. His heart beat as fast as his former snitch wings; his brain screamed, "Grab her! Hug her! Kiss her! Buy her black lingerie!" but his body remained petrified. He'd thought the beast was a stunning sight, but this young girl would put a Veela out to pasture. Her features matched those of the winged horse: dreamy, liquid silver eyes; silky, long golden blonde hair; robes of electric blue and a strange necklace of gold medallions.

The tower dungeon felt her radiance also. All around him, green ivy sprang to life from between the stones and rapidly covered the both floor and walls. For some reason, it did not breach the space in which he sat, but instead formed a perfect circle around him. He watched the ivy thicken, bloom spectacular white flowers and sprout tiny red… _radishes?_ A tree as thick as the Whomping Willow soundlessly pushed its way up out of the floor just behind the young girl. When it reached a height of ten meters or so, its growth slowed just enough for the girl to sprightly leap into a niche formed by two thick branches. The tree continued expanding its reach upward and outwards. When it finally settled, the strange visitor was perched a meter above the ground in her cozy nook, custom built for her dainty figure. She appraised the transformed space and threw Montague a Mona Lisa smile; she could have been impressed, amused or completely unmoved by her spell work.

Montague could only gape slack-jawed in reply. Not only was he captivated by her beauty, but by her incredible display of power. She didn't even wield a wand. Certainly anyone capable of such magic could blow apart his bonds and port him back to Hogwarts. She was everything he dreamed of needing moments ago. She was his angel come to guide him out of the darkness. He scrambled to his knees and looked imploringly up to her. Oddly, the chains seemed feather-light as he held out his arms to the powerful witch and shook the sleeves of his robes back to expose the manacles. He leaned forward and waited in anticipation of her blasting him free. He must've looked like a crup begging for table scraps, but it didn't matter to him in the least: he was going to be free soon.

The angel-rescuer sat and pondered him without blinking, completely unaware of the heavenly status that Montague had prescribed to her.

"Hello," she said from her throne.

Montague, still enamored by her aura, could only gulp and squeak out a noise that resembled a "hi."

She looked quizzically back and forth at his outstretched arms and then directly at him.

"Did Mr. Filch catch you putting Spell-O-Tape on Mrs. Norris's feet?" she asked in a tone of voice that implied he was certainly guilty.

Montague was caught completely off-guard. He was moments away from mindlessly confessing when his Slytherin "Lie or change the subject: you're going to get in big trouble" defense mechanism sounded its internal klaxon and broke the enchantment. He found himself faced with an entirely incomprehensible question from a very pretty girl.

"Erm… Excuse me?" he asked.

"Mr. Filch was stomping all over the school this morning saying he was going to lock up and whip whoever put Spell-O-Tape on Mrs. Norris and threw her into a suit of armor. Was it you?" she explained in a dreamy, mild alto voice. She gazed attentively upon him with her strange misty eyes.

_Merlin's shit! She knows about Spell-O-Taping the caretaker's cat! She must have been reading my mind the moment she arrived. She's a strong Legilimens! Is this a test? Is admitting I taunted the cat a condition for my release? This isn't making any sense. Who is this witch?_

The chains on his extended arms suddenly lost their mystical weightlessness. He slowly lowered his arms to his sides and contemplated her peculiar arrival and her odd accusation. He decided he would lie and change the subject.

"No, it wasn't me," he stated tersely. _At least not this time._ "Who… who are you?"

His visitor gave him a stern look.

"I'm Luna Lovegood," she replied and absently grabbed at the nearby switches hanging from the willow tree. She broke them off the tree and starting weaving them together. The branches rapidly grew back.

"Hello, Miss Lovegood. I'm Montague," he offered. "Are you a Hogwarts student?"

"Yes. Fourth year, Ravenclaw. And you can call me Luna," she said without looking up from her weaving.

_A fourth year? How did this attractive, formidable witch escape my notice? Heck, how did Malfoy miss her? I need to win this witch over and get out of here._

"Luna, that's some pretty impressive magic for a fourth year," he said in his most complimentary tone.

"Why thank you," she beamed. "Of course, it's easy to do anything _here_," she added with a light laugh.

"Of course," he answered with a mock laugh of his own. As charming as his laughter sounded to him, Luna wasn't fooled. Her wary silver eyes – appraising him with the same certainty as her Pegasus form – turned on Montague with clear skepticism. He promptly shut up.

_Alright, so much for flattery._

Luna returned to her weaving project and made no attempt to converse or assist Montague. Montague, knowing his lies and insincerity weren't scoring any points with this beauty, broke Slytherin tradition and tried a more direct approach.

"Luna?" – he waited for her to glance up from her task – "Where exactly is 'here'?"

"I can't describe it precisely," she said vaguely. She set her weaving project down on her lap and looked reflectively up to the sky. "I was flying to France to witness the first meeting of the International Confederation of Wizards when this tower," she gestured to the room at large, "popped up in the middle of the countryside. I was surprised to find you here; I don't meet many people in my dreams."

_Dreams? Flying to France? Confederation of Wizards? _

"Well, thank you for clearing that up," Montague mumbled to himself. He flipped his head back against the wall behind him with a hard _thunk_ and looked to the graying sky for some assistance. Normally, he had an easy time charming pretty girls. However, Luna Lovegood seemed to be on a completely different floo network. She could morph into a Pegasus, make plants and trees spring up out of solid stone and nearly read his mind. Why shouldn't her responses to seemingly simple inquiries be as puzzling as the riddles of the Sphinx?

_Maybe that's the way it is with powerful witches._ _Persuading her to help me is going to be more difficult than I thought._

Luna hopped down from her place in the tree and, with a newly fashioned basket, skipped over to the ivy on the walls. There she began collecting the large white flowers and radishes. When she neared the place Montague was bound, she hesitated and stared at the perfect circle of ivy that had formed around the place he knelt.

"What in Slytherin's name is this all about?" she shouted. Montague flinched at the unexpected outburst. Luna's voice had changed: she sounded for all ears exactly like his mother. "Reginald Francis Montague, stop this charade immediately!"

"What? What charade?" he vehemently shot back at her. "I'm chained to a wall! Can't you see that! Help me!"

Luna leapt back from where she stood. A few radishes toppled out of her basket and rolled into the vicinity of Montague. She responded to his heated gaze with a tilted head and furrowed brow.

"What… what would you like me to do?" Luna asked quietly in the alto voice Montague was first comfortable with. Her bewildered expression remained, punctuated by her protuberant eyes.

Montague took no notice of her confusion. He was more concerned with the strange bolt of anger that had just struck him when he had heard his mother shout. _That's no way to charm a pretty girl, Montague._ He took a deep breath and attempted to answer kindly.

"Well, would you please break these bonds?" he said lifting up his arms and nodding towards the heavy manacles at his wrists. Without moving any closer, Luna studiously inspected the chains, and then shook her head.

"I can't," she said calmly.

Montague grew impatient and rattled his chains in front of Luna.

"What do you mean? You just said it's easy to do anything here. You transformed this entire place into a living garden and you don't have the power to shatter a chain link?" he chided. Again, he found it difficult to level the tone of his voice. He could feel his temper rising uncontrollably.

Luna was still shaking her head.

"I can't because I am not the one who is restraining you," she explained. "Those chains are your own doing. You must feel really guilty about torturing poor Mrs. Norris."

"I did _not_ Spell-O-Tape Mrs. Norris' feet," he shouted emphatically. The ivy that had sprouted around Montague reacted to his eruption. It shriveled away as if scorched by the defensive side of a Blast-Ended Skrewt. Luna's protuberant eyes popped out even more as she watched the ivy burn to a crisp. She took another step back from Montague.

"Blimey, I wasn't even in the school this morning. It was probably Peeves," Montague continued scornfully. The chains on his wrists seemed to drag him down further into the stone floor. He let out a dispirited sigh, hung his head and sat back on his heels.

_Why doesn't she simply blast me free and whisk me back to Hogwarts? Some angel she is! Why the Salem witch trial treatment over the stupid cat?_

Montague heard Luna step closer, and he watched her surreptitiously. Luna tentatively reached out to the burnt ivy and, when she touched it, watched it turn to ash and drift away. She looked at the hand that touched the ivy and rubbed her fingers together, then lightly brushed some of the ash off her robes. Montague wondered what Luna found so fascinating about the ivy, but he dared not ask; partially because he didn't care, but mainly because he wasn't confident he could control his temper. Luna caught him peeking at her and broached the subject herself.

"Look what you've done," she said pointing to the ivy excitedly, as if she had just learned the first year magic spell of transforming lead into gold.

"So what," he replied with indifference, hoping it would compel her to drop the subject. His attitude did little to abate Luna's peculiar enthusiasm with the fried ivy. She seemed intent on explaining the anomaly.

"Montague," Luna asked, "do you know where you are?"

Montague rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I just asked _you _that question. You said we're in a tower in the middle of the French countryside."

"Yes, I know told you that," Luna giggled. "What I really meant was, do you understand where you are?"

Montague blinked twice. The anger that had been boiling inside him dissipated and a wave of cool relief rushed in to replace it. Luna had been entirely unhelpful up until this moment. But now, he marveled at how accurately she had just pinpointed the root of his problem. He was astonished at how easy it was for him to now reply.

"No. I have no clue," he answered plainly and unabashedly.

"You're in my dream, Montague. Or, maybe I'm in yours," she reflected as she glanced back to the seared ivy on the wall. "No, I think we're sharing a dream – which would be an amazing feat since only highly trained mind-healers have the necessary potions and skills to induce dream-melding. Isn't that… Montague?"

Montague didn't hear much of Luna's rambling beyond the part of being in a dream.

_Well, at least now I know for sure that I've fallen asleep._

He promptly started slamming his head backwards against the stone wall behind him – slowly at first, then more rapidly.


	4. Dream a Luna Dream With Me

Chapter 4 – Dream a Luna Dream With Me

Luna Lovegood watched perplexed as Montague slammed his head against the stone wall behind him – slowly at first, then more rapidly.

"Reginald, what are you doing?" Luna asked.

"I'm trying to wake – _thunk _– myself – _thunk_ – up – _thunk _– from this nightmare," he voiced. Since hitting the back of his skull didn't seem to be working, he twisted his body and bashed the side of his head on the wall.

"Banging your head won't help. Believe me, I've tried," she said. "Waking up is hard to do."

"Oh – _thunk _– is that – _thunk _– so," he said with a few more angered attempts.

"Reginald! Stop burning my flower beds," commanded Luna.

Montague stopped his self-pummeling. Her bold voice astonished him – that and her use of his given name. He was even more surprised by the enlarged ring of burnt ivy around where he knelt. Montague knew some people considered him repulsive, but he could not recall ever having this effect on plant life. Even his tantrum in third-year Herbology didn't upset a single Mandrake.

"How did you know my first name was Reginald?" he asked.

"I heard somebody shout it earlier," she said and glanced up into the air as if the voice would announce itself again. "It was my first clue that our dreamscapes had merged. Fascinating isn't it?"

Luna knelt down and started collecting more radishes, then rose and walked back to the huge willow. The tree politely lowered its thick branches and allowed her to comfortably step into her seat. She hung her basket full of flowers and radishes on a branch that conveniently sprouted up. She patted the tree in thanks then reached over her shoulder, pulled a few locks of her waist-length golden hair forward and started to braid it.

Montague watched her with increasing interest.

_She says we're dreaming. Together. The same dream._

It was an odd explanation of recent events, but at least he had an explanation. Explanations were far better than an endless array of questions, so Montague decided Luna's theory was worth pursing. He recalled her earlier fascination with the ivy.

"And the ivy was a clue also," he pressed.

"Yes. Contrary to what Professor Trelawney may say" – her disregard for the subject was evident in the manner in which she dragged out the middle syllable of the Divination instructor's name – "dreams are a reflection of your deepest feelings and beliefs, not predictions of the future. Your true frustration showed itself through the burning of the ivy. However, most interesting is that your feelings affected something I created. That told me there was a real mind behind the emotion," she finished straightforwardly.

"That's amazing," Montague acknowledged.

"That's being a Ravenclaw," Luna replied with a smirk. Montague couldn't help but crack a smile himself. School rivalries never die. Even when dreaming.

"So, Ravenclaw, how is that you can do all this," he panned across the garden tower, "and I can only burn a bunch of leaves?"

The smirk faded from Luna's face, and she paused mid-braid to consider her answer.

"Well, believing anything is possible has its rewards." She looked about her blossoming glade and up and down her massive tree. "At least here it does," she said softly. The braid she had been working on slipped free of her fingers and slowly unwound itself. For a moment, Montague thought she was going to cry. He would swear that the tower scene shimmered as if, for only a half-second, he was viewing the entire place through a curtain of falling water. Just as quickly, the curtain vanished and the garden foliage burst into new life. The white flowers turned to all colors of the rainbow and the ivy leaves shaped themselves into perfect hearts, diamonds, clovers and spades. Montague glanced back to Luna and noticed her bright smile had returned.

"Impressive. Is that 'being a Ravenclaw' again?" he teased in a friendly way.

"No. That's being Luna Lovegood," she countered in good humor.

"Ah… I see. What about these chains, Luna?" Montague asked more seriously.

Luna gathered up her tresses and re-started her lost braid. "My Ravenclaw hypothesis is that you are feeling totally trapped by something or someone, or you are in an inescapable situation. When you discover or conquer what that is, the chains will disappear," she stated.

Montague was impressed again by Luna's assessment of his situation, but he didn't know how to respond. She was implying that he needed to dig down into his feelings. Examining one's own feelings was something Slytherins avoided like dragon-pox; it seemed so… Hufflepuff-ish.

"Is there any other way?" he asked.

"Hmm… I suppose a stronger desire or belief could change the dream," speculated Luna.

Montague closed his eyes and thought hard about being free from the chains. He knew it probably wasn't that simple, but he wanted to try it anyway. Instead of vanishing, the chains just seemed to increase in size and weight. He fleetingly experienced the same feeling of despair he had when the Quidditch trunk first closed upon him. The memory and its feeling certainly fit Luna's description of "inescapable" and "totally trapped." He opened his eyes and examined the iron chains and shackles with new insight.

_Is it fear, despair or the impossibility of being stuck in a snitch?_

"You don't know why you are trapped," stated Luna, interrupting his thought. She had integrated some of her flowers into her lengthening braid and looked rather cute.

"No. I think I know why. It's just that… you probably won't believe me," he finished quickly and looked away from her. It wounded his pride to ask help from an attractive girl; even more so to appear a nutter in front of one. When he turned back to look for her reaction, she merely flicked her eyes towards the walls of the room. Montague followed her unspoken gesture and witnessed the unbelievable. In three separate waves, every flower in the tower turned a brilliant Ravenclaw blue, every radish turned Slytherin green and every leaf turned sparkling bronze with silver veins. He rounded back to her and found her still casually braiding her hair, working in an occasional green radish.

"Try me," she said.

If he hadn't seen it himself, he would have never guessed what power there was in unconstrained beliefs. It was almost too good to be true.

_Of all the people who could have appeared in my dreams, how fortunate…_

"Right. Well… You see… This sounds silly… but… I'm locked inside a Quidditch trunk," he began. He glanced at Luna expecting her to laugh, but she was aptly listening. He looked to the chains, expecting them to disappear, but they remained stubbornly present.

"Wow," Luna said nonchalantly, "You're awfully big to fit in a trunk. Did you drink a strong Shrinking Potion? There was a man in Manchester that shrunk himself to the size of an ant and it took him seven months to climb up his laboratory shelf and mix an antidote. He didn't want to Apparate to St. Mungo's because he was afraid of being stepped on."

"Uh… right… Compared to that story, you'll find this easy to believe," he said. "I'm in the Quidditch trunk because I'm… I'm a snitch."

Luna paused in her braiding and absorbed what he just said. "You don't look like a snitch. I thought you were Reginald Francis Montague?"

"I am, but somehow I came to be possessing a snitch."

"You're _possessing_ a snitch," Luna said. Comprehension spread across her face and she shouted, "Of course! That's how the Tornados have been secretly cheating at Quidditch this season! Daddy will be _so_ pleased to have that bit of news. Wait a second… were you the snitch in the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff match?"

"Yes! Yes! That was me! Were you there?" said Montague elatedly.

"Of course I was there. I was wearing a big hat with a huge screeching eagle on top."

Montague vaguely remembered the image of the hat and the sound of the screeching eagle that preceded his capture. He tried to recall the person wearing it, but the memory was weak.

"I definitely remember the hat," he affirmed.

"That was an exciting match. Tell me about possessing the snitch. Daddy will want a full report," Luna asked with a sincere measure of excitement.

"It was incredible," Montague said, and launched easily into his story. Still chained, he managed to stand up and reenact some of his more clever maneuvers for Luna's entertainment. Luna laughed and cheered as if the match was actually taking place. She even added circling snitches and broomsticks of blue and yellow to the décor of the tower. She transfigured the radishes into miniature Quaffles. When Montague neared the point in the tale in which he was captured, it dawned on him how Luna could help.

"Hey, Luna. I just thought of something. It's tough to talk when possessing a snitch. When you wake up, can you bring a message to Professor Snape for me?" he asked.

Luna stopped choreographing the collision of broomsticks and answered, "Professor Snape and I aren't exactly on the best of terms lately. Can you believe he took away ten points because I recommended using Blibbering Humdinger scales instead of lacewings? You _know _the scales are twice as potent."

No. Montague didn't know anything about Blibbering Humdinger scales – other than the fact that there was no such thing as a Blibbering Humdinger. When he considered some of Luna's earlier ramblings – the incredible miniature man from Manchester, the cheating Tornados theory – the irony struck him like Bludger to the head. Clearly, Luna would believe anything he told her, but obviously nobody – especially Professor Snape – would believe Luna. In Montague's eyes, the sparkling image of Luna Lovegood appeared to dim and the shackles on his wrists became heavier.

_Of all the people who could have appeared in my dreams, how unfortunate… Still, there might be a way…_

"Look, all you have to do is tell Professor Snape that… Fred and George Weasley," he said through clenched teeth, "did something to me and he can interrogate them as to what happened."

"Fred and George are no longer at Hogwarts," she answered. "They flew off to London last night."

"What!" screamed Montague, his face burning red with rage.

"Fred and George are no longer at Hogwarts. They flew off to London last night," repeated Luna.

Suddenly the tower shook as if a minor earthquake had just struck. Montague panicked and grasped his chains where he stood. Luna seized her tree-seat with both hands. After the rocking tower settled a few seconds later, Montague looked to Luna for an explanation.

"I'm not sure," Luna replied to his questioning look, "It might have been your anger, but I sensed something scraping on stone. Real physical events have a strange way of integrating themselves with the dreamscape. I can still hear Professor Binns talking if I concentrate." Luna released her tight hold of the tree and straightened up.

Despite Luna's inclination toward the unbelievable, Montague still trusted her understanding of the dreamscape. He nodded thoughtfully and acknowledged her explanation. Without even realizing it, he had fully accepted her whole dream integration theory.

"Could someone be moving the Quidditch trunk?" he suggested.

"Yes, that's a good guess," said Luna.

"Luna, what will happen when one of us wakes up?" Montague asked earnestly.

"I don't know, but it will be exciting to see, won't it?" she said perkily.

Montague couldn't share her zeal. He wasn't happy with the thought of returning to the lonely Quidditch trunk. He was enjoying Luna's company and subtlety thought his snitch antics had increased her interest in him. He wondered if he could manipulate the combined dream enough to snog this pretty witch. He'd dreamed such things before, and he was deeply upset when he woke up prematurely on those occasions too.

Luna startled him by asking, "You don't want to wake up, do you?"

_Blimey, I hope she didn't read everything I was thinking._

"Erm… no, I'm not anxious to return to… to being a snitch," he maneuvered.

"How did Fred and George Weasley's put you into the snitch?" Luna asked.

"They didn't put me there. They ported me to a – Merlin's beard, how do I explain it – a world of socks," he replied and proceeded to describe the world of lost articles to Luna. (He conveniently left out his confrontation with the tailless mouse.) Luna was fascinated with his story and could hardly restrain herself from asking about all the objects that inhabited the strange plane.

"Were there any books? How about a purple-dyed, eagle feather quill or a pair of radish earrings? The March issue of the _Quibbler_?" she asked hopefully.

"No," Montague replied to everything on her list.

"Did you see any Crumple-Horned Snorkacks?" she asked optimistically.

"What's a-," Montague stopped himself short, "No. I didn't see any Crumple-torn Snore-Cats. Why do you ask, Luna?"

Luna's milky white complexion turned a faint pink.

"I've misplaced a few items during the term and I just wondered if they might have turned up…" her voice trailed off and she gazed down at her dangling feet. Montague suspected there was more to her questioning, but selfishly opted to pursue his problem first.

"So, I grabbed the snitch that was flitting around and the next thing I knew, I was in the middle of the Quidditch match. What does your Ravenclaw mind make of all that?" he asked.

Luna was still gazing down and seemed hypnotized with her swinging feet. Finally, she looked up and burst out, "I think you're out of your mind."

Montague felt betrayed.

"Are you calling me a nutter? What happened to 'Try me' and 'believing anything is possible?'" he asked.

"I didn't say you're a nutter, I said you're out of your mind," Luna countered calmly. "Muggles call it an 'out of body experience' but its actually old fashioned spirit-based magic that…" Luna stopped abruptly and sat up straight in her seat. "What was that?" she whispered. In a panic, she wrapped both arms around a thick branch.

Montague didn't hear anything but, moments later, a loud crack of thunder rent the tower room. Simultaneously the tower began to tremble and a frenzied wind whipped up. Ivy was peeled away from the walls by the strength of the gale and the confined tower space became a whirling blender of leaves, flowers and radishes. Montague pulled the collar of his robes about him as best he could and tried to protect himself from being battered by flying debris. All around him the stones of the tower were cracking and crumbling to powder, but his chains held fast.

"Oh, for the love of Rowena, I hate when this happens," cried Luna. The Whomping Willow replica started to twist in place and, with a horrifying cry, it ripped itself up from the stone floor. It bucked and twisted like a raging bull as Luna clung on to her seat. The tree snapped once more and this time Luna could not hold on. She flew into the air and disappeared over the crumbling parapets.

"LUNA!" screamed Montague.

His bindings burst open in a flash of white light. He jumped up, ran past the thrashing tree and threw himself prone on the shaking ramparts. Luna's form was plummeting toward a courtyard of solid stone.

Montague had no qualms about watching Quidditch players collide, but the prospect of seeing a young girl splatter on stone was too much. He jerked his head away from the scene and clamped his eyes shut. He expected to hear something of the impact, but only the whisper of the dying winds brushed his ears. Montague chanced opening his eyes and tentatively looked over the edge.

There was no sign of Luna.

In a Hogwarts classroom in the physical plane, Luna's head hit the stone floor with a characteristic coconut _bik!_ The jolt woke her up and she found herself lying on her side in the middle of the aisle of the History of Magic classroom. Not one to overlook an opportunity to view the world from a new perspective, Luna lay there momentarily to observe the peculiar assortment of socks worn by her classmates. Monika Tamilson's golden yellow socks with red hearts and green clovers were an interesting choice. _I wonder if the clovers cry out the names of the Irish Quidditch team Chasers when you slip them on in the morning?_

From across the aisle, two Ravenclaw boys were clutching their sides and covering their mouths in an effort to restrain their laughter. Colin Creevy, sitting in front of them, spun around when he heard the commotion and joined in the merriment when he saw Luna dazed on the classroom floor. Sitting next to Luna, Ginny Weasley casually drew her wand and shot the three sniggering boys a look that could Stupefy a mountain troll. The boys winced and promptly shut up.

"Luna, are you okay?" asked Ginny.

"What happened?" Luna asked as she sat up and carefully massaged a bump on her head.

"You fell asleep. Mitchell and Derek thought it would be funny to yank your chair out from under you," Ginny whispered while helping Luna back onto her seat. "Sorry, I wasn't paying attention, else I would've stopped them." She glanced over at the boys again and envisioned a nice Bat-Bogey Hex in each of their futures. She stashed her wand in her robe pocket and tried to concentrate on taking notes. Professor Binns droned on with his lecture, completely unaware of the disturbance in the middle of his classroom.

"I wish they didn't do that," sulked Luna. She slumped into her chair and straightened her Butterbeer cap necklace. "They interrupted a rather interesting conversation with Montague."

Ginny's head snapped back to look at her Ravenclaw friend. Luna was busy gathering up her quill and ink, and she didn't notice Ginny's curious stare.

Normally, Ginny would refrain from delving into Luna's strange comments, especially during class. However, she considered Luna's casual mention of Montague a highly unlikely coincidence.

"What about Montague?" Ginny probed and prepared herself for a potential Looney-ism.

"I just met him in my dream," she said vaguely.

"In your _dream_?" Ginny asked incredulously. "Luna, Montague's been in the hospital wing for the last two weeks."

Luna stared back at Ginny with wide eyes and began to shiver.

Just then, the door to the classroom burst open and Professor Snape entered. Silence swallowed the room like a Dementor approaching.

"Professor Binns, may I have a word with Miss Lovegood," commanded Snape.

He didn't wait for Binns to answer. Instead, he marched straight to where Luna sat, glared at her down his long nose and made an uncontestable gesture for her to accompany him toward the classroom door. "If you would please follow me Miss Lovegood."

"Luna, what is going on," Ginny implored.

Without taking his eyes off Luna, Snape snapped, "Five points from Gryffindor. Mind your own business, Miss Weasley."

Impervious to Professor Snape's frigid mood, Luna started humming a chorus of "Weasley is Our King" and collected her quills and books. Snape folded his arms and drummed his fingers impatiently. He looked like he was milliseconds away from whipping out his wand when Luna finally announced she was ready. As she (and every other eye in the classroom) watched Luna trail the Potions Master out the door, Ginny silently prayed for her friend's safe return.


	5. Slightly Peevish

Chapter 5 – Slightly Peevish

Montague lay on the tower floor cautiously peeking over the edge. Far below was a courtyard of stone, but there was no sign of the girl who had just been violently cast down into its midst. Montague blankly stared through the spot he last saw Luna until the stillness of the scene registered in his brain. Montague lifted himself up and turned back to the inside of the high tower. The strong winds had completely died. The massive tree and all the other beautiful embellishments that Luna brought to his mental prison had faded away. The tower was nothing but a dingy mess of crumbled stone and sand. He was alone once again.

_I wonder what happened to her._

Montague glanced back to the point over which Luna had been thrown. He recalled his own dreams where he was falling; it always seemed he woke up before hitting the ground. He hoped that was the case with Luna. He didn't know why, but the thought brought him some relief.

_I hope she's all right._

With little else to do, Montague paced about the room and held onto that thought.

The sky above him grew dark as he walked. The stones were cold under his bare feet, but the chilly feeling gave him a sense of being alive­ – of existing. Wherever he walked, a soft glow of light seemed to follow him. As the sky darkened further, he could make out the extents of the room only by walking near its perimeter.

_She'll be all right. She'll help me. I'll be all right. _

On one of his laps around the tower, Montague stumbled over an odd pile of willow branches. He bent over to pick one up, but the branches magically melted into the stone floor revealing another oddity. Underneath the pile, Montague found a tulip with rainbow colored petals. He tentatively picked it up. He rolled the stem in between his fingers and watched the vibrant petals spin like a pinwheel. He smiled to himself and resumed his mantra and his patrol of the empty tower. Every once and a while, he'd pause to admire the tulip that he held gently in his hand.

_She'll be all right. She'll help me. I'll be all right._

The monotony was broken by the sudden appearance of a swirling vortex in front of Montague. His gut told him to avoid it, but it sucked him in like a portkey with a purpose. Montague was unwillingly dragged to its center and he felt his whole body twist under the gravitational pull. In a blink, the force disappeared and Montague, slightly nauseous and faint, found himself facing a bright blue pentagonal window on a wall of solid black. The window was about two meters high and had a fascinating silhouette of frog painted on it. Montague stepped up to the window and cautiously reached out to touch its surface when a voice rang out.

"Halt demon! I command you!" barked a voice.

Montague whipped around to confront the voice and almost burst out laughing upon seeing him. The man was easily a foot shorter than Montague and had a mop of brown hair with a prominent bald spot on his crown. He was dressed in wizard's robes that had been patched together from every fabric imaginable – from burlap, to silk, to velvet, to linen, each square was a different size and color. To complement his eccentric robes, he had a belt of thick rope from which hung an odd assortment of items – a cup, drying weeds, a dead snake, crosses of wood and silver, a long pipe and leather pouches of various sizes. He waved his arms and picked at the air with his finger tips like an old sideshow charlatan trying to hypnotize a weak-minded audience. He approached Montague slowly stepping heel to toe and cast him an "evil" look from his brown bulging eyes.

"Who are you?" asked Montague nonchalantly.

"I am Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa von Nettesheim. Agrippa for short. But you," the man paused for dramatic effect, "shall call me _master._" Montague detected a bit of a German accent in Agrippa's voice.

"How about I call you a git, Agrippa," Montague replied.

Agrippa briefly stopped flourishing his arms and appeared to consider Montague's proposal. Then he resumed his motions and tried again.

"I have summoned you here, and I command you, demon, to obey me!"

"I'm not a demon, and you're a git," said Montague.

Agrippa froze, then dropped his arms and stood up straight.

"A git. What is a git?" he asked.

Montague decided to play the old man for the fool he appeared.

"A git? Why a git is an extremely intelligent person who can tell me the meaning of this," Montague turned around and held his arms open wide toward the five-sided window with the shadow of the frog in its center. Agrippa's change in attitude was immediate.

"Ya. Ya. So, I am a git," the little man said happily. He rushed forward and slipped himself in between Montague and the window. "This, young sir, is the Pentagon of Universal Vision," he announced with all the flair of someone who is clearly aiming to please. When Montague, clearly unimpressed, just stared back at him blankly, Agrippa leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, "It's magic." He smiled, nodded his head and winked at Montague.

Montague smiled, nodded and whispered back, "How does it work?"

"Surely, you must understand something of its origins," he continued in an educational tone. "The pentagon is one of the strongest symbols in the Dark Arts – especially necromancy, the summoning the dead. I've been studying the art for decades. Most rituals that use the pentagon also require a reactive agent…"

Montague folded his arms and pretended to be captivated by Agrippa's lecture as the peculiar man prattled on. In reality, he had slipped into his own thoughts. The prospect of Agrippa having "summoned the dead" had him worried.

_Can I be dreaming this place too? Or, did this strange wizard really summon me? If I've been summoned, was it from…?_

Agrippa's voice fell silent and Montague snapped out of his internal deliberations. He thought Agrippa had asked a question.

"Excuse me?" Montague asked.

"I asked you if you are familiar with the effects of astronomical bodies on reptilian life forms," he stated with slight annoyance.

"Yes. Yes, of course," lied Montague.

"Well, when a typical lunar triangulation occurs," Agrippa charged on, "a great popping sound occurs and the life force of the frog is consumed. Thereafter, the blue mist will fade away and the dead will appear."

Agrippa's last words caught Montague's attention.

"You can see dead people?" he pressed.

"Yes. Mostly younglings for some odd reason; I do not understand why. It could be the age of the frog," speculated Agrippa.

"Just exactly, how many 'dead younglings' have you seen? No wait, forget that question. Explain how this works again," said Montague gesturing to the window.

Agrippa quickly turned from helpful tutor to a suspicious intellect.

"Oh, you're a sly devil, aren't you. You tricked me into revealing the secret of the pentagon. You're memorizing all this aren't you." Agrippa worked himself into a hysterical frenzy. "I know who you really are. You're an apprentice of Paracelsus! You've come to steal my work, haven't you! HAVEN'T YOU!" Agrippa unhooked a mace that was hanging from his belt and charged Montague.

Montague was caught off guard, but managed to dodge the attack with only a minor scrape to his shoulder. The old man over-extended on his next wild swing and Montague easily tackled and overpowered the old wizard. Montague pinned Agrippa to the ground by straddling him. He wrested the mace from Agrippa's hands and cast it aside.

"Don't hurt me. Don't hurt me," whimpered Agrippa.

"Tell me where we really are. Tell me how to get out of this place. Tell me I'm not…dead," demanded Montague.

Without warning, two popping noises reverberated across the room. Montague looked to the pentagonal widow and saw the frog shape begin to stir.

"Ha! There are some secrets I will never reveal, young devil," declared Agrippa and he vanished in a heartbeat leaving Montague to collapse on the spot. He sprang to his feet and sprinted to the window. The frog shadow hopped about a few times, then it disappeared. Now the bright blue color of the widow was dissolving, and Montague recalled Agrippa's words… _the dead will appear._

Montague heard the wailing of children. One of them was in shouting in agony. As the last remnants of blue faded away, Montague distinctly saw a red-haired student dressed in Hogwarts robes with Gryffindor accents. He clearly heard the student yell, "I got it! I got it! I can't believe I finally got it!"

Montague ducked out of sight of the window and sank back against the wall.

_It can't be._

Montague hid from view and listened intently to the ensuing conversation.

"What? What'd you get, Ron?" said another boy.

"I got Cornelius Agrippa. The one card I've needed to complete my collection!" responded Ron. There were sounds of several people stampeding closer, and Montague heard murmurs of amazement coming from a small herd of students.

"Whhoooaa, totally wicked! That's the rarest card in the whole series," said a younger voice, probably a first or second year. "Let's see him."

Montague sucked in his gut and tightly pressed himself into the wall. There were three seconds of silence before the young boy's voice commented, "Where is he?"

"It's a rare card. Maybe he's not used to making appearances," said the first voice.

"Cram it, Dean. He's an old dodger, but with so few cards to visit he should pop up any second now," said Ron.

There was yet another long, uncomfortable silence. Montague continued to hold his breath.

"Well congratulations, Ron. Call us when he shows up," said the first voice and several other boys concurred. "Yeah, great luck, Ron." "I gotta go to the library." "Hope he comes 'round soon."

Montague heard some shuffling as the party started to break up. The boy, Ron, let out a dejected sigh.

"Well, I'm gonna wait. I've been waiting for fifteen years. I can wait a bit longer," said Ron. Then, all was quiet but for an occasional sniffle.

Montague exhaled slowly and measured his next move. _Revenge._

He wanted to confront the red-head directly so he crept closer to the edge of the window and carefully peeked around. The boy's face nearly filled the span of the window. He was resting his head on his hands and staring down at Montague's portal. The student caught Montague's movement and Montague quickly retreated. It looked like the boy was all alone. Montague boldly stepped into view and, hands on hips, squared off against the boy he knew to be the Gryffindor keeper – a _Weasley_.

"Hello, Weasel King," sneered Montague. Montague took ultimate pleasure in seeing the horrified look on Weasley's face. Ron opened his mouth to say something, but choked on his words. When he recovered from his coughing fit, he furtively glanced left and right several times.

"No, it's not a joke, Weasel boy. So, it's true you can _save_ something. Too bad it's only a bunch of Chocolate Frog Cards and not a Quidditch goal, eh?" said Montague.

Ron leaned in close and peered at Montague.

"Ma… Mont… Montague?" whispered Ron through a trembling lower lip.

"Very good, Wealsey. How did you ever come up with a few brain cells when your family can't afford anything else?" harassed Montague. Ron's ears turned red and he looked away. Montague laughed in silent triumph. Ron faced him again.

"What are you doing in my trading card? What happened to Agrippa?" demanded Ron.

"I'll tell you what I've done to Agrippa after you tell me what your rat-faced brothers did to me," demanded Montague right back.

"Whatever they did, you deserved it you bloody bastard," said Ron.

"It's nothing compared to what I'm going to do to them. They'll be thrown into a suite in Azkaban when I get out of this place. How's that sound Weasel King?"

"Sounds really tough coming from a trading card," replied Ron coolly.

"Yeah well, your brothers are responsible, Weasley. They're gonna pay for it one way or another," Montague asserted and continued to goad Ron. "Just how did you manage to buy all those Chocolate Frog Cards anyway? Have you been renting out your tramp of a sister?"

Ron bolted to his feet and slapped both hands on the table outside Montague's view.

"Don't you dare have a go at my sister," challenged Ron.

Montague knew he had hit a nerve. Ron's red hair appeared to ignite and his brow was furiously set. Montague snickered at Ron's over-protective reaction and couldn't resist further taunting the fuming Weasley.

"Oooo. A little defensive, aren't we," teased Montague. "Tell me, what do you charge for five minutes of snogging in the dungeons nowadays?"

"Rot in hell, Montague," said Ron. He whipped out his wand and placed its tip in the center of Montague's window.

"_Incendio!_" roared Ron and flames shot at Montague like a sneeze from a Hungarian Horntail. Montague had a few seconds to chastise himself for such an unwise move before his little room was swallowed in smoke.

_Next time, try and get help instead of revenge._

* * *

Ron Weasley sat in the Gryffindor common room in a trance. In front of him were the smoldering remains of the one Chocolate Frog Card he'd yearned for almost as much as he'd wished for a British Quidditch league championship by the Chudley Cannons.

"Please tell me I didn't do it," Ron intoned.

"Okay, you didn't incinerate the rarest, most valuable Chocolate Frog Card known to Wizard-kind," said his best mate. Ron ignored the cheerful comment.

"Blimey. It might be another fifteen years before I get that card again."

"Right bummer of a day, mate. You'd best get going to practice."

On any other day of the week, Quidditch practice would have been a rough enough blow to Ron's self-esteem, given his abysmal goal tending. But, after torching Cornelius Agrippe's Chocolate Frog Card, Ron thought things could only turn for the better. He swept the ashes of the Card off the common room table, grabbed his broom and glumly followed his friend out the portrait hole.

* * *

The smoke overwhelmed Montague and he collapsed onto his knees. His eyes stung, but remarkably, he felt no burning heat consume him. He covered his head with his robes and tried to filter out some fresh air. A strange whirring noise swept past him and Montague snuck a quick look out from under his robes.

The swirling grey smoke was being sucked down into billowing clouds that lingered on the ground like a thick fog. He stood up and found the air to be relatively clean and easily breathable. He looked above him as something very big seemed to be taking shape.

The last of the swirling smoke evaporated to reveal thick red and purple velvet curtains draped about a huge room. At least it seemed huge from his perspective. It was similar to looking through the warping-effect of a Bubble-Head Charm. Some things, like the beaded doorway straight ahead of him, seemed far off in the distance. Other things, like the bottle of sherry on his left, were enormous. A tiny movement behind the bottle suddenly became a very huge hand flying at him like a charging Seeker. Montague instinctively ducked, but the hand came nowhere near him. It merely grasped the bottle and receded just as quickly into the background.

Montague tracked the movement and spotted an eccentric person seated in a high-backed, poofed-up chair. The person poured himself (or herself, he wasn't sure) a drink and returned the bottle – rather clumsily – to its prior location next to him. The toppling bottle looked forty feet high and Montague jumped back to avoid being hit. The bottle was deflected by whatever force field separated him and the strange person, and it clunked down on the table top that was below his field of vision. The person launched themselves at the spilled sherry, bringing his – no her – face into sharp view.

Montague now knew the person was a witch since her face was magnified ten times before him. He was sure the crooked glasses and disheveled hair of the old hag was not due to his peculiar point of view. Her flush cheeks and bloodshot eyes told Montague she was quite inebriated. But all color drained from her face when she made direct eye contact with Montague standing in his small field of milky white fog.

On being noticed, Montague jumped up and down and shouted, "Hey! Hello! I'm trapped, can you help me out of here!"

The aged, pale face turned away from him and stared pointedly at the sherry bottle in her hand, then returned slowly to look directly at Montague. She straightened her lopsided glasses and stared wide-eyed at him. He could read every pore and dimple on her exaggerated nose as she leaned in and studied him. Two hands zoomed in from his sides and the shifting scene told him he was being raised higher.

"Can you hear me!" Montague shouted at the witch. "I need help! I'm trapped! You've got to help me!"

She blinked and ticked her head to the side.

_She can obviously see me._

Montague searched his robe pockets for anything that he could write with. He found nothing but the little rainbow tulip. He turned back to the bulging eyes of the dumb-struck witch and pointed to himself and mouthed his name slowly.

"Montague. Mon-ta-gue," he repeated, but the witch didn't seem interested in starting a conversation or was too drunk to register anything cohesive.

Probably the latter since the old hag fumbled his "container" when returning him to his former location. Montague caught a glimpse of her hands scrambling above him. The once stable scene of the room became a spinning blur all around him. Montague sought to grasp something to steady himself. Remarkably, it was not necessary since he seemed to remain upright and stationary in his little foggy world; however, the view about and above him rolled non-stop. Fortunately, Montague's snitch training allowed him to make some sense of his journey.

He was rolling within a magical sphere. Tables, chairs, curtains, books and other objects zipped past him. Montague found it easy to align himself with the direction he was traveling by facing the most constant image. He soundlessly bounced off a red surface, then a wood surface, then several grey blocks. After striking a massive chest and changing directions, Montague re-oriented himself in time to see he'd passed through the beaded doorway into a passageway. Dead ahead, in the floor of the hall, loomed an ominous dark hole.

No matter what his predicament, Montague thought falling through a black hole would not be a welcome adventure at this point. Unfortunately, he had not figured out a way to alter his current course. On the bright side, he seemed to be slowing down: he might stop short of the hole. A ladder appeared to be sticking out of the gaping hole. Montague was familiar with the design; a lip about an inch high usually surrounded any ladder well in Hogwarts. If he could slow down a bit more, the lip might be enough to stop him from plunging into the hole. Montague spied the lip approaching and estimated another half revolution would determine his fate. He held his breath and put his hands out in front of him in a feeble attempt to brace himself for the worst.

Montague's magic bubble quietly rolled up to the edge of the well. For a full second, Montague was suspended, looking down, over the seemingly bottomless hole. Another slow second later, he drifted slightly backwards, away from the hole as his inexplicable transport gently tapped against the lip and reversed course. Montague let out a huge sigh of relief.

_Whew! Thank Salazar for that bit of luck._

He turned around to get a better look at where he was, only to come nose to inflated nose with the old witch. She had pursued him on hands and knees, dragging several scarves and shawls behind her. She had the sherry bottle in her hand and reached towards him.

"No! Stop! Stop! Don't move!" Montague shouted and waved his arms at her furiously.

The witch went three-for-three for clumsy moves in the hour. Perched precariously near the edge of the ladder well, Montague's ball was struck with the sherry bottle and was vaulted over the lip into the dark hole.

"AAAAAHHHHHHHHH," Montague yelled to absent ears. He shut his eyes, unwilling to comprehend the dizzying scenes that flashed about him.

Whatever container he was trapped inside was more resilient than Montague could have imagined. He felt nothing as it ricocheted off two rungs of the ladder and smacked the solid stone floor. It continued to bound down a castle corridor past several tapestries and monuments. Finally, it rolled to a stop at the base of the pedestal holding the newly restored bust of Paracelsus.

Montague was intimately familiar with this particular statue since Hogwarts' infamous poltergeist, Peeves, had nearly dropped it on his head months ago while he was on his way up to the Owlery. It appeared that Peeves was keen on repeating this stunt since the rascal was hiding behind the bust, patiently waiting for another victim. When a crystal ball happened to bounce into his midst (without his doing), Peeves was naturally interested in investigating the matter. He picked up the globe, stuck his nose to the side and peered inside.

Montague didn't know whether to jump for joy or scream as he watched Peeves approach him and pick him up. The close-up, warped view of the poltergeist was enough to make him want to throw-up, but Montague kept his wits about him. He could tell Peeves was speaking, but he could not hear anything.

"Peeves!" Montague shouted, "Peeves, you've got to help me. Get me out of here! Take me to Professor Snape!" Montague waved his arms and jumped up and down.

Peeves blinked, cocked his head a few times, and continued to soundlessly babble back at Montague. Montague took that to mean that Peeves was trying to figure out what he had just found and was merely talking to himself.

"Peeves, it's Montague. Get me out of here! Get me out! Get – me – out," Montague repeated, and this time Peeves seemed to latch onto his words. Montague distinctly saw Peeves mouth the words "Get me out."

"Yes, yes, yes," Montague said enthusiastically and nodded.

_Darn it, Peeves. You've got to understand me. I'm not good at charades._

"Help – me. Get – me – out – of – here," Montague mouthed, stressed and ridiculously tried to mime.

Astonishingly, Peeves nodded back as if he understood, and Montague's world began to spin rapidly again as Peeves, carrying Montague with him, floated down the corridor. Montague recognized the familiar passages to the Owlery as Peeves swept through Hogwarts.

"Alright!" Montague cheered to himself, "That's it Peeves. Take me to Snape or another teacher."

But, there was no way for Peeves to hear his request.

When Peeves reached the top of the Owlery, Montague questioned Peeves' intentions. When Peeves made for one of the windows, Montague realized he should have been more discerning in his choice of instructions and gestures when dealing with the poltergeist.

"Merlin's beard, Peeves. What are you doing?" he mumbled.

When Peeves chucked his little sphere out the window, Montague was positive that Peeves' interpretation of "get me out" was no where near the same as his. On reflection, Montague should have known that any solution the rogue would come up with would involve shattering something into a thousand pieces. Montague didn't think his container could tolerate an eight story, gravity accelerating plunge. He cursed Peeves, shut his eyes, clutched the flower in his pocket and waited for "the end."

_Please, if I'm still dreaming, let me wake up before I hit the ground._


	6. Man With the Golden Nose

Chapter 6 – The Man with the Golden Nose

Trapped inside a crystal ball thrown from the Owlery, Montague plummeted towards earth with eyes clamped shut, clutching the memory of a tulip.

He never felt the impact. He wasn't even sure there was an impact for it seemed he went directly from rocketing straight down to levitating straight up. The unusual change in direction was accompanied by the sudden and overpowering return of his senses – particularly his sense of smell.

Montague heard the chirping of birds and the swaying of trees in a summer breeze. He felt the comfortable warmth of the sun on his skin and smelled… everything. He could smell the pungent dragon manure used in the Hogwarts greenhouses. He could smell the murky water of the lake. Close by he could smell stones and the porous, spongy moss that clung to them. A scent totally foreign to Montague wafted intermittently under his nose. From some deeply buried instinct, he labeled the odor "friendly bi-peds." But most interesting among the potpourri of aromas was the faint, succulent smell of _gold_ nearby.

_What a marvelous scent._

Montague opened his eyes only to discover he was nearly blind. Based on his super-olfactory abilities, he knew he was outside Hogwarts facing the greenhouses, but their distant forms were far below him and a complete blur. Without quite understanding how, Montague turned smoothly to his right and he identified a big dark fuzzy blue blob as the lake. Still rotating slowly, Montague found the source of the mossy stone aroma: he was looking point blank at an exterior wall of the castle. The wall, being only a meter away, was in sharper focus. On the other side of the wall, Montague was absolutely sure there were some tasty bits of gold and gems. Much to his displeasure, he was drifting upwards and farther away from his desired treat.

The wall provided a frame of reference for his movement. Montague was levitating upward along its height, and he spotted a window ledge coming within reach. He naturally reached out to the ledge as he passed but, much to his dismay, he had no arms.

_Oh no, not again._

Instead, he had two, dirty four-toed paws. He could move them in a swimming motion quite effectively and he paddled toward the open window before him. His efforts seemed to be working: he made it over the ledge and through the window just as the force that was suspending him abruptly stopped. Montague dropped like a rock. He didn't drop far (and by now, Montague was an expert on free-falling from high places), but still plopped down hard on a carpeted floor. The jolt jarred his bladder and he embarrassingly wet himself, adding another exotic scent to the rich mix in the room. Montague shuffled across the carpet to get out of his mess. He felt four furry feet touching ground and he lifted his whiskered nose to analyze the room with his newly acquired talent.

This room was used heavily by a single "friendly bi-ped." One strong scent permeated the carpet, the desk, the chair and every other item in the room. It was a strange formula of salty sweat mixed with dry wool and a touch of toadstool. The person was one of the adult females and she was very big. Montague couldn't begin to explain how his nose told him all this. He just knew.

Other bi-peds had been in this room too. Montague sniffed the air and carpet and traced their scents to a small desk and chair in the corner of the room. There was the sick smell of dried blood coming from a quill and parchment on the desk. Montague backed away from the area and set about exploring the rest of the space.

His nose and feet seemed automatically programmed to move him in the direction of any shiny object. It was as if he was under an Imperious Curse that was constantly prodding him to find, inspect, taste and gather any gleaming objects and bring them back to his cozy den. He had an insatiable hunger for gold, but any dense metal had a nice sweet smell. There were many intriguing things to investigate. He started with the attractive brass plate holders on the shelf behind the desk. He scurried across the carpet, leaped up on the desk chair, then coiled up and sprang onto the shelf.

_Oh yes, these are nice and shiny._

He knocked a plate from its stand and licked the metal.

_Mmmm. Soft brass. Very good._

A mewing sound caught his attention and Montague turned to the next plate to find a lurid blue kitten looking back at him. He sniffed at the kitten and briefly felt the urge to hump it but honestly found the silver lining of the plate more alluring. He chewed on the plate lining until his over-zealous behavior pushed both plate and holder over the edge of the shelf. The plate shattered, but he didn't care; there were plenty more to indulge in.

Montague proceeded to chew on each of the plates in turn and purposely push both plate and stand over the edge of the shelf. He jumped down (and again wet the floor on impact), then started building a large pile of his treasure in the center of the room. He found a silver snuff box containing a powder that stung his nose when he accidentally inhaled it. He flipped the box over and emptied its contents on the carpet before picking it up in his mouth and tossing it onto his growing pile. He chewed the handles off the desk and the metal caps on the ends of the chairs. He managed to tug out several of the drawers and spill their contents all over the floor for closer examination. He wriggled with glee when he hit the jackpot of delicious Knuts and Sickles. He licked and licked at them until his keen hearing picked up the sounds of the friendly bi-ped opening the door.

"Eeeeeeeeeeek!" shrieked the woman.

"Ahhhhhhhhhh!" shrieked Montague, although through his rodent vocal chords it came out more like a prolonged high-pitched squeak. The shock of seeing the massive form of Professor Umbridge framed in the door broke him free from the Imperious effect that had him following only his animal instincts. Her unpleasant odor could shock a were-bear out of hibernation too. Besides her stinky, wooly mushroom scent, Montague's snout detected fear bordering on terror.

"Professor Umbridge, help me!" Montague said, but all that came out was a string of grunts and clicks.

Umbridge screamed again and whipped out her stubby little wand. As she did, the flash of glittering rings on her fingers triggered Montague's primitive desire for treasure.

_Gold!_

He dashed towards her and tried to climb up her leg. For a fat toad, she was quite dexterous. She managed to dodge his charge and kick him away. The intoxicating smell of the golden rings was driving Montague wild. He scrambled on top of the hoard he had amassed in the middle of the room and made a second attempt to leap and grasp the flashy rings. This time his timing was perfect. He captured her wrist with his paws and bit down on both fingers and rings.

"Owwwwwwwww," cried Umbridge. What was once fear, turned to pure anger. She zapped Montague with her wand and Montague had to let go of his prize. He landed on his back, and it took a second for him to squirm back onto his feet. He circled around and found himself trapped between an enraged Umbridge and the thick oak door.

Montague knew Umbridge shared the Slytherin fondness for tormenting small furry creatures. He did not need perfect eyesight to see Umbridge foaming at the mouth with anticipation. His animal instincts told him to run: they also insisted on ejecting extra weight before trying to run. He promptly emptied his bladder onto the cute little pink welcome rug with the High Inquisitor seal. He briefly wondered why _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them _(nor the companion guide _Fantastic Beasts and How to Subdue or Kill Them_)never mentioned how nifflers had such poor bladder control.

Umbridge lifted her stumpy wand and let loose.

"_Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!_"

Montague was thrice blasted backward. Every cell of his body cried out in pain. He hit the door behind him with such force that his bones shattered. If his bladder was full, it would have ruptured with the impact. _Not a bad instinct to have after all._ As he started to drift unconscious, he tasted blood on his lips and smelled charred niffler hair. The acrid smell could not hide the acute scent of certain death approaching. Montague could not explain how his nose told him this. He just knew.

Montague's conclusion was confirmed when he floated silently up out of the niffler's body and observed the scene from the ceiling of the office. Umbridge nudged the bloody carcass with the tip of her wand to confirm that he – it – was dead before Banishing it to the waste can. After that, she collapsed, exhausted, into her office chair.

His niffler-self had done quite a job at gnawing away the feet and struts of the chair. The chair burst apart beneath Umbridge's weight, and Montague was mildly entertained watching her flailing among the broken pieces like a turtle turned up on its shell. He would have liked to stay, but he floated up through the ceiling into the classrooms and corridors of Hogwarts above her office.

The sound of rattling metal brought Montague's attention to a vaguely familiar scene along one of the corridors. Peeves was in the process of stuffing Mrs. Norris into a suit of armor. He seemed to be having some trouble keeping the visor of the knight's helmet up while also maintaining a firm hold on the thrashing cat. Montague couldn't help but laugh at the scene. Whenever he pulled off the prank, he always had a co-conspirator to lift the entire helmet off the shoulder gear. Montague wanted to help Peeves, but he continued to drift up until he found himself looking down on the castle grounds.

Every detail of Hogwarts was vividly rendered below him. It looked like the Giant Squid was waving to him from the dark blue lake. Hogsmeade was bustling as usual and Montague could swear he saw his parents walking up the road from the town towards the castle. From his rapidly rising altitude, the crowns of the trees in the seemingly endless Forbidden Forest were a glowing green. Every leaf individually sparkled in its own personal shade of green, yellow, brown, or burgundy and Montague was completely absorbed in their dancing colors.

Then everything turned black.

Black and cold.

Montague felt he should be seeing his breath frosting in front of him, but nothing came forth. He wasn't breathing at all. He quickly inspected himself. He had arms, legs, hands, feet and torso, but they were all semi-transparent. He held his hand directly in front of him and could see its faint outline. And, through his hand Montague saw a frightening scene.

Ghosts of all forms drifted in lines towards an archway. Men, women, children, common animals and magical beasts all flowed silently towards an ancient, crumbling arch of stone. The arch was the only opaque object in the dark landscape and it looked so run down, Montague felt it would fall over in a light breeze. A tattered veil hung down the middle of the arch and it waved gently under a mysterious draft. Montague moved closer and saw that the forms approached and entered the archway from both sides, but none emerged from the opposite side.

_I don't like this._

_I don't like this at all._

Montague spotted a niffler gamboling toward the veiled archway. The beast looked strangely familiar, and it stepped out of the flow momentarily to nod at Montague. He felt the urge to reach out and pet it, but the instant he extended his hand, he felt an awkward pull toward the chilling veil. He stood firm and studied the little niffler from a short distance away.

"Are you coming?" asked the niffler.

Montague was amazed not by the fact that he could understand niffler-tongue, but that the word "yes" actually entered into his mind. He even opened his mouth and shaped the word on his lips, when the soft tinkling of a bell interrupted his answer.

At first, Montague was not even sure he had heard it. The niffler, with its superior hearing, had not reacted in any way. It sat on its haunches twitching its faint gray nose, patiently waiting for Montague to respond.

The bell chimed again, louder this time, and the sound reminded Montague of the ringing hooves of Luna's winged-horse. The silver bell rang a third time and now Montague was positive of its existence: it was the purest, most resonant sound he'd ever heard. Montague felt heat radiate from within one of his robe pockets and he reached into it to find the multi-colored tulip pulsing with warmth. Upon seeing the flower, the little niffler danced with excitement and relieved himself. Montague shared the creature's delight with a simple smile.

Montague answered his spiritual friend by shaking his head. _No._

"Very well," said the niffler. It stepped back into the ghost line and Montague watched it jump into the veil and disappear. _Forever._

Montague held up the flower – the only colored item in the black panorama of ivory ghosts wandering toward a cold veil of gray. The other ghosts took notice, paused in their fated journey and turned their heads towards Montague. A middle-aged man, who had the looks of a Ministry Auror, attempted to wrest himself out of his prescribed path and reached directly for Montague.

_No. I don't belong here._

Montague retreated from the man, then turned and sprinted away from the horrid arch and its omen of doom. No matter where he ran, ghostly forms sprang up out of the solid black depths below him. Many paid little to no attention to Montague's flight, but their sudden appearances startled him at every turn. He clutched the flower protectively to his chest. After dashing and dodging around the large transparent image of a Chinese Fireball dragon, Montague distinctly heard several voices call out his name in unison.

"Reginald Francis Montague."

He stopped. The voices called to him again.

"Reginald Francis Montague. Believe."

He brought the warm, glowing flower up close to his face.

_Believing in the impossible has its rewards._

"I believe, I'd like to live," said Montague firmly to the flower. "I believe there's no place like Hogwarts. I believe I'd like to go there _now_." On his last word, Montague hurled the flower at the ground. The blackness exploded open at his feet and Montague was swallowed in a rushing whirlpool of brilliant gold and green.

He was falling. Again.

He was falling very fast.

He was beyond terminal velocity as he roared earthbound like a meteorite.

He was falling and he felt ecstatic; not because of where he was, but because he knew where he was going. He was above England; in a blink he was over the Hogwarts grounds; in the next blink he crashed through the top of the castle; in the next blink he was looking at a deathly pale image of himself lying in the hospital wing. In a concentrated charge, Montague slammed all his energy into the body before him. All his senses went on-line and he took huge, gasping breaths of chalky, heavily incensed air.

"I believe we've got him," said a familiar alto voice.


	7. Return of the Magi

Chapter 7 – Return of the Magi

"I believe we've got him," said a familiar alto voice.

A girl's face appeared over Montague. It was a very plain face except for her protuberant silver eyes that gave her a dotty appearance. Her long dirty blond hair was tucked back behind her ears from which dangled earrings made of radishes. Around her neck was a string of Butterbeer caps. She opened her mouth to speak but, before she could utter another word, someone shoved her out of the way. The girl's face was replaced by several others, some of whom looked very distraught.

"Mum? Dad? Professor Snape?" said Montague. "Blimey, am I glad to see you!" He sat up quickly and immediately felt dizzy and nauseous. To make matters worse, everyone surrounding him started bombarding him with questions. The noisy barrage rattled his senses worse than the trip down the ladder well inside the crystal ball. All of the voices were silenced with a piercing shout from Madam Pomfrey.

"Quiet, all of you," Pomfrey commanded. "Give the boy some room. Here, drink this Montague."

A sweet flavored drink was pressed to his lips, and Montague was happy to sit up and take a few sips. It was a refreshing potion. It had the same restoring effect as chocolate did after being too close to a dementor. Montague took the mug from Madam Pomfrey and after a few more sips, the dizziness subsided. He took a few steady breaths and looked at the group assembled around his bed. His mother seemed disturbed; his father was passive (as usual); Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, looked amused; and Professor Snape was alternating venomous looks between Flitwick and the young girl. Montague could not get a good look at the girl due to Madam Pomfrey's continuing examination, but he thought he should know her since he knew everyone else.

"Reginald. Are you alright?" asked his father.

"Yes, I'm fine, I think. Son of Slytherin, you're never gonna believe where I've been," said Montague, regaining the excitement of his adventure. "I was in this really dark place with ghostly dragons and nifflers and wizards. And there was this place with thousands upon thousands of socks floating around and I managed to get inside this snitch. Then, I met this old dodger of wizard, Corny Agrippa and…" Montague stopped his ranting. His mother's face was etched with apparent pain.

"He's still babbling. Are you sure we captured the right spirit? What was in that potion?" demanded his mother of the audience at large. Madam Pomfrey gave her a stern look and bustled off across the ward. No one else offered a reply.

"What do you mean? It's true, mum. I was inside this Chocolate Frog Card with a guy named Agrippa and before that I was chained to a wall in this tower with a huge tree and this really pretty witch named Luna flew into the tower and…" Again Montague cut his fable short as every person surrounding him had turned to look at the young girl. She had receded into the background and took no notice of the ensemble staring at her. She busied herself with blowing out numerous candles that were surrounding the bed and twining her fingers through the wispy trails of smoke that ensued.

_Why are they all staring at her?_

"Well, that would certainly explain where the senseless babbling came from," said Professor Snape.

"Perhaps she inadvertently transferred some of her personality to him," interjected his father. "It's happened before, you know – the transferring of powers between two wizard-kind."

"Nonsense, Francis. Be quiet," snapped his mother.

"Indeed, Mr. Montague," continued Professor Snape. "Although, if you were thinking about burning a scar on your son's forehead and giving him a famous nickname, I might suggest calling him The-Boy-Who-Drooled-For-Three-Weeks. He is just maintaining this ridiculous pretense for his own delight."

"I would have to agree, Professor Snape. Reginald, what is the meaning of all this?" his mother asked in a similar, stubborn tone. Clutched in each of her hands were multi-colored socks, and she whipped them down onto the bed before him. The others in the group also pitched two or more socks onto a rather large pile at the foot of his bed. Professor Flitwick contributed two fluffy white socks and smiled back at Montague.

"I… I don't understand. What… what's with all the socks?" Montague asked.

"Oh, I suppose you're finding the greatest amusement in all this," his mother said gesturing to the socks and the candles around the room. "And dragging us away from work and the Professors from their duties must be _so _entertaining. Was this some bet with your house mates to see how foolish you could make us all look?"

"No. It's not a bet. I almost died," Montague said defensively. "I was… there was this… the bloody Weasley twins—"

"Ah yes, the Weasleys," Snape cut in. "How convenient that they are no longer at Hogwarts."

"Oh now, that's enough Severus," squeaked Professor Flitwick. "Give the boy some time—"

"—to come up with a fantastical story like Miss Lovegood's?" Snape interrupted again and glared at Flitwick.

"Some time to rest and heal properly. He's had quite a remarkable experience I should think," replied Flitwick. Montague could see more was being exchanged between the little Charms professor and the imposing Snape. Oddly, Flitwick seemed to have the cooler hand. Their dueling eyes were broken by the shrill voice of Montague's mother.

"Very well," said his mother, "we won't 'entertain' you any longer. Reginald, you're grounded this holiday until I get an adequate explanation. Professor Snape, a word with you in private, please. Come, Francis." His mother rose out of her seat and his father dutifully followed, but not before offering his hand to Professor Flitwick.

"Thank you for your help, Professor," said his father. "I understand the teachers are being inspected this year; I would be happy to write the headmistress and offer my praise for you and this young student of yours."

"You will do no such thing! Get over here, Francis," barked his mother. His father quickly dropped his handshake with Flitwick.

"Coming, Victoria," sighed Montague's father. He leaned closer to Professor Flitwick and lowered his voice. "Do thank the young lady for us," he muttered, and then he shuffled over to the council with his wife and Professor Snape. Montague was left in the company of Professor Flitwick, the young girl and Madam Pomfrey who had just returned with a marvelous smelling soup.

"How do you feel, Montague?" asked Madam Pomfrey.

"I feel like I've been tumbled in a sock dryer, burned, stunned and stabbed – all at the same time," Montague replied and hungrily charged into the hot soup. "What happened to me?"

"We don't know exactly. You've been acting strange for nearly three weeks – talking unintelligibly and having odd seizures; then other times you'd just stare vacantly at the ceiling like a statue," she answered neutrally.

"I wasn't acting, I was…" Montague's voice trailed off. Madam Pomfrey gave him a skeptical look while she adjusted his pillows to help him sit up and eat easier.

Professor Flitwick was right. He needed some time to piece together his story. Minutes ago his determined beliefs had saved him from the brink of death – there was no way he could casually disregard that fact – but explaining it would require some pretty smooth talking to avoid being grounded for the summer.

"You were out of your mind," spoke the young girl. Montague stopped eating his soup and looked up at the girl. He knew that voice, but the face didn't match his expectations.

"Luna?" he asked.

She nodded and came to sit beside him. Madam Pomfrey eyed the girl cautiously before flitting off to her watch station at the end of the ward.

"Welcome back, Reginald," said Luna. "You look much better."

"And you look… different," said Montague tentatively. The Luna in his dream was much, much prettier, and he had to repress his ingrained Slytherin behavior to not blurt it out loud. Yet, his disappointment was not lost on Luna.

"You saw me in your dream as you wanted to see me. There's nothing wrong with that," replied Luna wisely. Montague blushed. It seemed her uncanny ability of reading his mind was not restricted to shared dreams.

"You believe me, don't you?" he asked.

"Of course I do. Neither of us would be here now if I didn't believe you."

"So, you _did_ tell Professor Snape."

"Not exactly. After I woke up, Professor Snape came for me," said Luna.

"_He_ came to _you_," said Montague. "How did he know?"

"Apparently, in your delirious state, you shouted my name a few times," said Luna. "Madam Pomfrey reported it to Professor Snape and he immediately pulled me from my lessons. I told him everything and he didn't believe me," Luna sighed. "Thankfully, Professor Flitwick got involved when word got around school that Professor Snape locked me in his office. I think Ginny Weasley had something to do with that."

Montague choked on a spoonful of soup – partly because of Snape's action, but mostly because hearing "Weasley" aloud was becoming as irksome as hearing the Dark Lord's name.

"Anyway, Professor Flitwick broke the wards on Snape's door – which Professor Snape did not appreciate – and I told him everything too," continued Luna.

"So, you believe me, Professor?" Montague asked Flitwick.

"I do so more now than when I first heard Miss Lovegood's account. At the time, let's just say I was more than willing to trust a Ravenclaw mind," winked Flitwick. Not surprisingly, Montague understood that feeling. "As you are undoubtedly aware, her hypothesis was probably correct. You were temporarily out of your mind or, shall we say, your mind was out of you."

Luna answered Montague's perplexed look. "Your mind and body were split apart. We still don't know how it happened. They found your body in a toilet on the fourth floor about two days after you disappeared. Your mind found its way into a snitch and then my dream. We just had to bring them back together. So, we held a séance."

"A séance?" Montague asked.

"Yes, a séance. Sort of a Summoning Charm for a spirit object, really. Amazing, simply amazing," Professor Flitwick said with a beaming smile directed toward Luna.

"Alright, now I'm the one who can't believe what you're saying," spouted Montague. Montague really had no reason to challenge Luna's help. Still, he rather believed it was his own willpower that brought him back to Hogwarts. "Séances are silly Muggle sideshow acts."

"Oh no, they are real. Daddy published a whole issue of the _Quibbler_ on the psychic arts," said Luna matter-of-factly. "They are quite effective. All you need are a few things the spirit is attracted to and some close blood relatives. Luckily, your parents were already here. We heard your mum in the dream, remember?"

Montague did remember and, judging by the animated discussion between her and Professor Snape, she wasn't any more receptive to his condition currently as she was in the dream.

"That must've been a challenge. How did you manage to convince Professor Snape and my parents to join the séance?" asked Montague.

Luna started giggling. "Professor Flitwick, you tell him," she said between giggles. She glanced over at Snape and Montague's parents and bit down on her fist to keep from laughing out loud.

"I didn't appreciate Professor Snape locking up Miss Lovegood so, after releasing her, we tracked him down," said Professor Flitwick. "We found him up here, in the hospital wing, where we silently observed him casting a most unusual assortment of Charms on a snitch." He nodded toward a glass encasement resting on the bedside table. Inside, a golden snitch darted back and forth, occasionally rapping itself against the side like a trapped bumble bee.

"He wasn't… Did he think…?" Montague fumbled.

"Yes, although you can be sure he will never admit it," said Flitwick with a smile.

"Especially after what we did to him next," said Luna after taking her knuckle out of her mouth. She quickly replaced it as she looked ready to explode hysterically. Montague looked back to Flitwick for the rest of the story.

"What did you do?"

"What would you do if your Quidditch team had just suffered a painful match at the hands of a very uncharacteristic snitch, hmm? And, here before you was someone casting spells on the very snitch in question," said Flitwick. Montague's eyes widened to saucers. "I sent Luna to fetch Madam Hooch. She was on high alert for any tamping with her equipment. We simply provided her with some proof."

Montague was aghast. It was so skillfully Slytherin-like and yet, this was Professor Flitwick, the teacher second only to McGonagall as the school standard of decorum and professionalism. Luna couldn't hold back any longer. She let out a hearty guffaw and clutched her sides.

"It was most entertaining to watch," Flitwick continued over Luna's mirth, "and a lot of fun to participate too. I demanded a re-match since it was obvious Ravenclaw was severely hurt by Professor Snape's alleged tinkering, and I threatened to turn him into the Department of Magical Games and Sports. That is, unless he cooperated with myself and Miss Lovegood. He had no defense against myself and Madam Hooch. We caught him red-handed. He was more than willing to attribute the whole idea of the séance to me to save face with your parents and to persuade them to participate."

Just then, Luna's laughter abruptly turned into warning coughs: Snape had returned.

"Well, well. Having a good time laughing at your parents, are you?" Snape sneered.

"Have they left?" Montague asked, ignoring the ridicule and looking past Snape for evidence of his parents.

"Yes, and they are quite upset," said Snape.

"Why?"

"Let's see," he said mocking an intellectual pose, "first, your inexplicable illness; second, a ridiculous summoning spell; third, your even more remarkable, instant recovery; and finally, and possibly most distressing, your mother thinks you're dating a Ravenclaw." He glanced at Luna who promptly turned as red as the radishes hanging from her earlobes.

"Speaking of Ravenclaw," said Professor Flitwick, "I'm glad you've joined us again, Severus. I want you to hear this." He looked directly at Luna. "Miss Lovegood, I am astounded – fascinated, really – with your marvelous bit of old school magic. It's the kind of bright thinking and magic I have come to expect from those in my house. I award fifty points to Ravenclaw for your excellent display of Ancient Magic and for restoring a fellow student to good health."

Luna's jaw dropped and she nearly fell off her seat. Praise was not something she was accustomed to, especially from her head of house. On the other hand, the burning anger on Professor Snape's face looked hot enough to ignite the oil in his hair.

"You don't seriously believe Lovegood's Muggle-magic drivel had anything to do with Montague's recovery," said Snape.

"Oh, I don't think it was the only thing, Severus," said Flitwick. "However, you certainly can't deny Montague is now alert and coherent after Miss Lovegood's spell work. Quite a remarkable change from his condition over the past few weeks, don't you think?" Snape took a big breath and prepared to launch into his counter-argument, but Flitwick cut him off before he could start. "Why he might even be healthy for the Quidditch match next weekend. You ought to be very pleased."

The slight twitch of Snape's upper lip hinted that he heard, and understood, the full snub of Flitwick's statement. Flitwick was clearly milking the moment for all it was worth. Snape turned on his heel and stormed out of the hospital wing without another word.

Montague, Luna, and Professor Flitwick all enjoyed a good laugh after which Luna questioned Montague about everything that had happened after she left the dream. Montague found it easy to relax and talk about the whole experience. Professor Flitwick listened nearby with some interest but remained relatively silent. He occupied himself by sifting through the sock pile at the foot of Montague's bed. The Charms professor would levitate a sock into the air, spin it around, examine it critically, then either set it aside or Vanish it.

"May I keep these," asked Professor Flitwick, holding up a dozen mismatched socks. "I think they would make a fine gift for Professor Dumbledore." Montague didn't know why Flitwick needed his permission, but he gave it anyway. Just after Montague finished explaining his encounter with Peeves in the Owlrey, Madam Pomfrey arrived, broke up the unlikely trio and insisted that Montague get some undisturbed rest.

Luna made ready to leave. She softly hummed a melody to herself while collecting the strange paraphernalia used in the summoning ritual. Professor Flitwick helped by transforming the vines of deep green ivy draped on the bedposts into green ribbons. Luna delicately placed candles, incense and a silver bell into a small basket that looked liked it was woven from switches of the Whomping Willow. The sweet chime of the bell caught Montague's attention, and he asked Luna to ring it again and again. Finally, she just let him have it and he set it on the bedside table next to the snitch cage.

Up until now, Montague had not paid any attention to the items on the table. The snitch still zipped around inside its case. Next to the case, he found his wand and his Inquisitorial Squad badge and beside them was a multi-colored tulip. He picked up the flower and twirled it in his fingers to watch the colors blend together in a rainbow pinwheel. He called to Luna and Flitwick just as they turned to leave.

"Hey, Luna. You forgot this," he called and extended the tulip to her. Luna came over to look at the pretty flower but made no effort to take it.

"It's very pretty, but I didn't bring any flowers here. It must be yours," said Luna plainly.

"Take it anyway… for all your help," Montague offered.

Luna blushed again, "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Like the chains in your dream, I sense it is more a product of you than of me. You need to keep it. It will bring you good luck."

Montague could not think of a response. Part of him understood what Luna was sensing and part of him still wanted her to have the flower.

Flitwick approached and placed his hand on Luna's shoulder. "We must be going before Madam Pomfrey becomes irate. Would you care to join me in the kitchens for a nice cup of hot chocolate?" he asked cheerfully.

"Certainly, Professor, I'd love to," Luna replied with a gracious smile. She gathered up her basket and waved to Montague where he sat propped up in his hospital bed, still holding the colored tulip. "Good night, Reginald. Sleep tight, and don't let the Bollywoggles bite." As they started to go, Montague could hear Flitwick questioning Luna about the uses of common elements like silver bells in complex spell models. Luna happily launched into some incomprehensible story of the spirit planes while Flitwick listened with interest. Their voices trailed off as they left the hospital wing.

Madam Pomfrey returned with a smoking concoction and, though it reeked like fried niffler hair, he drank it willingly. In minutes, Montague passed into a welcoming dreamless sleep.

Montague awoke before sunrise and was relieved to find himself still in the Hogwarts infirmary. He pressed his head back into the familiar comfort of the down pillows and filled his lungs with the sterile air. He was back. No strange wizards. No prisons. No dark worlds. He lay peacefully in his hospital bed trying to sort out what had really happened to him. After three minutes of blankly staring at the tulip glowing magically on the bedside table, his mind alerted him of his uncomfortably cold feet. Montague thought of the nice mismatched wooly black socks that he'd seen the evening before. Two black socks, one with a green toe and heel, the other with the letters A, P, W, B and D woven in gold along its length. He picked up his wand, pictured the socks clearly in his mind, stirred the air and conjured the socks. The socks materialized on the bed before him and he happily slipped them over his cold toes.

_I wonder if…_

He cracked a mischievous smile, concentrated and twirled his wand again.

_A white tail-less mouse with sharp teeth hiding under a box of snails. _

A little mouse materialized out of the air and plopped lightly onto the bed before him. It looked up at a very wicked smile.

"I believe we have some unfinished business," he said to the mouse.

The mouse shivered, glanced left and right, looking for an escape route, then leapt from the bed and bolted. Montague laughed and raised his wand. He was definitely back.


End file.
